


pretty good together

by lydiastilinskis



Series: College: The Mini Series [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Road Trips, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-23 14:10:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10720893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydiastilinskis/pseuds/lydiastilinskis
Summary: "“Stiles,” Lydia answered exasperatedly. “I know you’re worried about missing the party too, but try not to. Scott will help in any way he can. Now, put your foot down. We’ve got a birthday party to get to.”Stiles looked over at Lydia, his mouth hanging open a little. Lydia was a stickler for the rules, especially when it came to driving, and he was more than a little surprised to hear those insensible words coming from her mouth. It also warmed him and made him smile as he pressed his foot down on the gas pedal; it showed how much she cared about him and about his dad, which meant a lot to him."Lydia and Stiles are in a race against time to make it back to Beacon Hills in time for the Sheriff's birthday party, which Stiles can't bear the thought of missing for the first time in his life.





	pretty good together

“I hope you realise that we’re completely lost and have been for the past hour,” Lydia Martin said, glancing across her car at her passenger, who was busy drumming his fingers on his knee in time to the music playing in the car.

 

“We’re not lost,” Stiles answered determinedly, picking up his phone, laying on his lap, and opening maps. He’d been checking regularly – although maybe not regularly enough – to determine their location, and they weren’t lost. He was almost 70% sure of it.

 

“We are lost,” Lydia insisted. “We should almost be home by now. We’ve been driving for what feels like a lifetime.”

 

“Maybe if you’d let _me_ drive, we’d already be home,” Stiles couldn’t resist the dig, mostly because he loved to tease her and she loved being teased. She always pretended like she didn’t, like he infuriated her, but he always saw that small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

 

“I wasn’t going to let you drive us home in that death trap of yours.”

 

“ _Roscoe_ ,” Stiles reminded her, “is doing just fine, thanks very much. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about him like that, it hurts his feelings.”

 

She shot him a look across the car and rolled her eyes at him, but she secretly enjoyed it. Just being with him again. It had been so long – they’d driven across to D.C. together when Stiles had started college in summer, and had seen each other at Christmas break, and then again in February when they’d driven in treacherous conditions to get to each other when the weather had threatened their plans.

 

But that was the last time they’d seen each other, which was one of the reasons why Lydia had jumped at the chance to drive Stiles and herself home from college for spring break and for the Sheriff's surprise birthday. Her mom had offered to pay for flights so they could make it back to Beacon Hills sooner, but Lydia’s car was already in Massachusetts and she couldn’t survive two weeks in Beacon Hills without some sort of transportation of her own.

 

It worked out well, really. Lydia hated long car rides by herself, but Stiles loved them. He _lived_ for them.

 

And, of course, there was the added bonus that she got to spend forty-one uninterrupted hours with him.

 

“In all seriousness,” Lydia continued, reaching for the volume dial on the stereo and turning it down. “We’ll never make it back in time for the Sheriff’s birthday party. It starts in —” She checked the time on the clock on the dashboard — “three hours. That’s great.”

 

“I’m checking where we are now,” Stiles insisted, attempting to load the maps app on his phone. His connection wasn’t picking up and it was slowly loading, road by road, but wasn’t enough to see the bigger picture.

 

“We’re in California,” Lydia reminded him, “I’m just not sure we’re going in the right direction. I haven’t seen any signs for Beacon Hills, or even the general direction of Beacon County.”

 

“We’re in Blythe!” Stiles announced, like he’d solved an impossible equation, rather than just loading data on an app. “We’re in Blythe – three and a half hours away from Beacon Hills, no big deal.”

 

“You’d better call Scott and warn him we’ll be late,” Lydia said, “and be sure to tell him it’s because of your subpar navigational skills, okay?”

 

“I’ll have you know that my navigational skills are _way more_ than subpar,” Stiles answered cheerfully. “I’d say definitely more in the _adequate_ region.”

 

“Stiles, just call Scott,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes at him.

 

She kept the car moving along the highway, knowing it would be worse if they pulled over. They’d left Massachusetts with more than enough time to make it back to Beacon Hills; she didn’t quite understand where it had all gone so horribly awry.

 

 _Well, the best laid plans,_ she thought to herself, glancing over at her boyfriend. _Especially when it comes to Stiles_.

 

“Hey, Scott?” Stiles said into his phone, his gaze moving over to Lydia so he could see her properly - as he often caught himself doing.

 

He was just so glad he no longer had to hide that and could look at her for as long, or as often, as he liked. Except, of course, when she caught him looking and rolled her eyes at him, asking him if her lipstick was smudged or her mascara had run.

 

He’d never told her that it was because he just liked looking at her, at _Lydia Martin_ , of all people, with the knowledge that she was his girlfriend. Some days - no, wait, _most_ days - he still lived in a state of disbelief that his life was real. That is was really happening - that  _he_ was with  _Lydia_.

 

“Stiles!” Scott’s voice was cheerful. “We were getting worried, please tell me that you’re about to pull into my driveway.”

 

“Not … exactly,” Stiles winced. He took the phone away from his hear and pressed loudspeaker, hoping Lydia could help him explain the situation.

 

“What do you mean by _not exactly_?”

 

“We’re three and a half hours away, Scott,” Lydia replied, her hands whitening as she gripped the steering wheel. She _hated_ being late for things. It was sloppy and unlike her.

 

Besides, they’d promised about fifty times to help set up the McCalls’ house for the Sheriff’s birthday party. She didn't want to let any of them down.

 

“Three hours?” Scott repeated. His voice became muffled as he took the phone away from his ear. “They’re still three hours away. Yeah, hours, Kira. They were _supposed_ to leave with plenty of time to get here."

 

“Uh, Scott?” Stiles said. “We can hear you.”

 

Scott returned to the phone. “Good, I wanted you to. You’re going to miss setting up for the Sheriff’s birthday!”

 

“I know,” Lydia replied. “I’m not sure how it all went wrong. We left the day before yesterday; we had a schedule and everything.”

 

“Although I did convince Lydia to make an impromptu stop for pizza along the way,” Stiles offered, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Stilinski is due to arrive at my mom’s house at eight o’clock,” Scott told them, ignoring Stiles’s comment. “It’s five-thirty now.”

 

“Two and a half hours?” Lydia’s voice revealed her nerves, which she always tried to keep under wraps most of the time. Stiles was usually the only person who could make her feel better, but she didn't think he was in a position to comfort her - they were both just as concerned about missing Stilinski's surprise party as each other. “We thought it _started_ in three hours.”

 

“Lydia, put your foot down,” Scott advised her. “I’ll see if we can stall Stilinski until eight-thirty, which gives you three hours exactly. Is that enough time?”

 

“Let me see,” Stiles said thoughtfully, “just how mathematically possible is it to squeeze a three-and-a-half-hour drive into three hours? Lydia? You got this one?”

 

“It's mathematically _im_ possible,” Lydia concluded, earning herself a smile filled with pride from Stiles. She resisted smiling back, only because she knew how annoyed Scott was over their tardiness and doubted it would make him feel better if he thought they weren’t taking it seriously.

 

“Go faster, then!” Scott insisted. “Do _something._ " 

 

"Scott," Lydia said, "I won't speed. I'm not getting a ticket."

 

Scott sighed impatiently. Why Lydia had to be a such a sucker for rules, he could never understand. "Stiles, you’ve never missed your dad’s birthday before.”

 

“I’m aware, thank you,” Stiles answered, drumming his finger on his knee again.

 

Lydia wondered if it was an anxiety thing; it was a habit that he’d only just started to get into, or at least she’d never noticed it on him before. Then again, she doubted that. By now, she thought she’d probably memorised every habit Stiles had, and everything he ever did.

 

“It’ll be fine,” Lydia said, attempting to smooth things over. She knew now – she could tell – that Stiles felt worse about the whole thing than he was letting on. He was trying to act calm, but she knew he was worried about missing his dad’s birthday.

 

Scott was right: Stiles had never missed his dad’s birthday before, and he never wanted to, either. Everyone knew how important the Sheriff was to Stiles. She inched her foot down on the gas pedal, hoping he wouldn’t notice the increase in speed.

 

Scott sighed. “Call me with updates, okay? Let me know when you’re close.”

 

Scott hung up the phone and Stiles stared at the blank screen, wrinkling his nose. He noticed Lydia had fallen quiet.

 

“Hey,” he said, his voice gentle, “is everything okay?"

“I’m fine,” she replied, nodding. “Just want to get back to Beacon Hills. I don’t want to let the Sheriff down.”

“That makes two of us,” he answered. “Are you sure you’re okay? We should probably take a break soon, or swap.”

“You think I’d let you drive my car?” 

He raised his eyebrows; oh, how Stiles  _loved_ a challenge.

“I think you would, yeah.”

Lydia tapped her steering wheel, shaking her head. _Nobody_ drove her car, apart from her. Ever. It was kind of like how Stiles was about the Jeep. She mocked him for naming the damn thing, but she was oddly protective of her own car, too.

“And why would I do that?” she asked him, raising her eyebrows right back at him.

She didn’t miss the small, endearing smirk on his face. Even out of the corner of her eye, she could see it. 

“Because,” he answered simply, “you love me.”

And the worst thing was that he was completely right:

She did.

 

***

 

 

“Shoot,” Stiles muttered as his phone vibrated in his front pocket. “Lydia, get that would you? It’s probably Scott.”

She reached over from the passenger side and, without missing the suggestive expression on his face, slid her fingers into his front pocket and wiggled them around until she successfully located his phone and pulled it out. Stiles resisted the urge to laugh; instead, he waggled his eyebrows at her and she snorted, before immediately covering her nose with her hand.

“Forget that ever happened,” she said to him.

“No way,” he said, shaking his head. “You just snorted. _Lydia_   _Martin_ just snorted.”

“I hate it when you say my name like that,” she reprimanded him, “it’s weird.”

“Why is it weird,  _Lydia Martin_?”

“I’m answering the phone now,” she told him, accepting Scott’s call and pressing loudspeaker straightaway. Stiles flexed his fingers against the steering wheel, his eyes sliding across to the clock on Lydia’s dashboard. It was almost 7 p.m.

“Hey, Scott,” Stiles said. They exchanged nervous glances, knowing they’d have to disappoint Scott by informing him they hadn’t magically teleported across the state or hadn’t miraculously managed to drive sixty miles in the same amount of time it should have taken them to drive forty.

“Where are you guys now?” Scott asked impatiently. 

“Uh,” Stiles said, glancing at Lydia for the answer.

“Palm Springs,” she answered, loading the data on her own phone. “About two hours away.”

Scott’s voice distanced itself from the phone as he spoke to someone else. “Two hours away,” he repeated, “and when is Stilinski getting here? Eight-thirty?” He returned to the phone. “You guys are going to be late.”

“We know, thank you,” Stiles said, clenching his jaw in annoyance. “You’re not making us feel better.”

“I’m not trying to!" Scott answered. “It’s a  _surprise_ party, Stiles. Do you know what that means? Stilinski’s going to get here at eight-thirty, we’re all going to jump out and yell  _surprise_ , and —”

“Are you really describing a surprise party to us?” Stiles asked. He sighed. “Look, push my dad’s entrance back to nine, if you can. See if Melissa and Argent can take him out for dinner. I’m sure he’d love that.”

“I hope you’re driving as fast you can, Lydia,” Scott said, his voice low. “But I’ll do the best that I can.”

“Lydia took a break,” Stiles said, “I’m driving the rest of the way.”

“Wait, we never agreed to that,” Lydia argued. “You said you’d drive for a half-hour!”

“Well, you’re going to have to fight me to get me out of this seat, and since I’m  _driving_ , I don’t think that will end well for both of us.”

“Stiles!” Lydia frowned. “It’s  _my_ car —”

“Can you two please stop bickering for two seconds?” Scott interrupted their argument from the other end of the line. They stopped, shooting each other small, amused smiles, almost like two children who’d been told to be quiet and play nicely. 

“Sorry, man. Go ahead,” Stiles said. “Come up with a plan.”

“ _You’re_ usually the one who comes up with the plan,” Scott replied, groaning loudly. “This surprise party is the worst party of all time. Malia keeps popping balloons with her claws by accident, I think she’s struggling without her anchor - just another reason why you two need to hurry the hell up."

“Well, her anchor is going as fast as he can,” Stiles muttered, glancing over at Lydia to check her reaction. Although Lydia had been present during Malia and Stiles’s entire relationship and was aware of the entire course of the relationship, Stiles still worried that it could be awkward for Lydia and Malia sometimes. Being Malia's anchor occasionally rattled Lydia, and being Lydia’s boyfriend  _and_ emotional tether irked Malia when she was feeling irritable. 

Still, he tried his hardest to keep it fair between them. Lydia wasn’t a fan of PDA and was all too happy to respect Malia’s feelings by not flaunting their relationship. Neither of them wanted to risk hurting the pack, and for what it was worth, Malia didn’t seem to mind most of the time that Stiles and Lydia were together. 

“Call me when you’re thirty minutes away,” Scott said, just as another balloon popped loudly in the background and he issued another sigh, this one longer than the last. “And don’t be afraid to break a few speed limits on your over here, okay? I’ll see what my mom can do about taking the Sheriff out to dinner to stall him.”

“Check in with us, too,” Lydia said, just as Scott hung up the phone and she turned to look at Stiles. “He’s pretty mad.”

“This is Scott we’re talking about,” Stiles said, “we’ll bring him some doggy treats and he’ll be fine.”

“Stiles,” Lydia answered exasperatedly. “I know you’re worried about missing the party too, but try not to. Scott will help in any way he can. Now, put your foot down. We’ve got a birthday party to get to.”

Stiles looked over at Lydia, his mouth hanging open a little. Lydia was a stickler for the rules, especially when it came to driving, and he was more than a little surprised to hear those insensible words coming from her mouth. It also warmed him and made him smile as he pressed his foot down on the gas pedal; it showed how much she cared about him and about his dad, which meant a lot to him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, as they finally entered Beacon County. The sign passed them and they both breathed synchronised sighs of relief. They could see the finish line now; the end was in sight. They just had to get there on time without getting pulled over for speeding first.

 

***

 

 

“It’s your turn.”

“No, it isn’t,” Stiles frowned at Lydia, shaking his head.

“Yes, it is.”

“ _I_ said,” Stiles continued, raising his eyebrows, “Never have I everopened up a rift in space and time to save somebody’s life. Thanks for that, by the way. Then, you said, never have I everplayed lacrosse. _I_  said, never have I ever read the entire dictionary cover to cover —” 

“Which I told you, I haven’t done,” Lydia insisted. 

“And I still don’t believe you,” Stiles replied easily, shrugging his shoulders and grinning wickedly across to the passenger seat. Lydia had taken her shoes off and propped her feet up on the dashboard, and her hair blew in the breeze from the slightly open window. “Sounds like the kind of thing you’d do.” 

“Okay,” Lydia said, admitting defeat. “So, it’s my go?”

“Which is exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“Never have I ever,” Lydia said, ignoring him, “fallen asleep in class.”

“When  _haven’t_ I done that?” Stiles argued, taking a sip from his water bottle in answer to Lydia’s statement. 

They’d been playing a non-alcoholic version of Never Have I Ever for thirty minutes, after repeating Stiles’s road trip playlist for the third time and running out of items for I Spy in just ten minutes (it should be noted that there were only so many times  _R_ for road,  _S_ for signs or sky, and  _C_ for car could be used before the game quickly became boring). They were coming closer to Beacon Hills by the minute, no longer even relying on their phones for GPS and, instead, relying on what they recognised around them. Maybe even in a few miles, they might see some  _B_ for buildings.

“Never have I ever ...” Stiles began, tapping his finger against the leather steering wheel and squinting one eye in concentration. Lydia looked at him, a smile playing on her lips. “I’ve got one! Never have I ever pissed Scott off completely by being an hour late to a birthday party he’s been planning for the last three months.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Now we  _both_ have to drink.”

Stiles took a sip of his water and capped it, slotting it into the cups holder beside him. “I don’t think I can play for much longer, Lydia. My bladder is pretty full.”

“Maybe we should stop,” Lydia agreed, capping her own water bottle. “And you could let me drive the last half-hour to Beacon Hills.”

“No way, I’m enjoying your car,” he said, “she’s much smoother than Roscoe, you know?”

“Strangely enough, I can imagine that,” she answered.

“I resent the grudge you hold against my car, babe,” Stiles said thoughtfully. “Roscoe has only ever been there for you - for  _all_ of us.”

“ _Babe_?” Lydia repeated, wrinkling her nose. 

“I was trying out something new. You don’t like it?”

Lydia shook her head. “Not really, no.”

“Okay, I’ll keep thinking,” Stiles said, remaining cheerful. “Oh, look! I spy with my little eye, something beginning with  _S_.”

Lydia glanced around as they passed a sign announcing they were just a few miles from Beacon Hills, and from the Sheriff’s birthday party.

“Sign?”

“Got it in one.”

She checked the time. It was 8:45.

“Are we going to make it?” Stiles asked.

After some deliberation, Lydia said, “Maybe if you put your foot down, we might have a better chance.”

Stiles grinned at her. “If you say so, sugar.”

 

***

 

Scott checked the time displayed on his phone screen for what must have been the fiftieth time in the last hour. He knew Stiles and Lydia were on their way, and he knew they had a habit of just about managing to be all right when it came to this kind of thing. They were pretty good together, and they’d beaten things a lot tougher than the speed limits of Beacon County.

“Scott,” Kira appeared at his side and looped her arm around his comfortingly. “They’ll be here.”

“I hope so,” Scott replied grimly. His phone in his pocket buzzed with a text and he reached for it; it was his Mom, warning him that herself and Argent could not think of any more topics to discuss at dinner to stall for time, and would be home in five minutes. “We’ve got five minutes.”

“Well,” Malia announced, approaching them. “We’re all set up, although I personally don’t understand the point of  _balloons_. It’s like, here, happy birthday, let me give you this  _thing_ that’s filled with air and will die in three days’ time.”

Scott and Kira stared at Malia until she challenged them by cocking an eyebrow in their direction. Kira said, “Can’t argue with that, I guess.”

Scott’s phone buzzed again. He almost didn’t want to look at it, but he forced himself to.  _Three minutes!_ read Melissa’s message.

“Three minutes,” Scott said. He sighed and raised his voice, turning to the other party guests. “Hey, everyone? The Sheriff’s on his way, so everyone be quiet and get into your places. Parrish, turn out the lights, would you?”

The guests lowered their voices and talked in hushed tones. Scott heard the distinctive sound of Malia muttering over something in the corner of the room, where she’d hidden behind the couch. She’d complained - loudly and at length - about the  _hiding_ aspect of surprise birthday parties too.  _What’s the point in jumping out and yelling surprise?_ she’d questioned plainly, when Scott had first brought up the idea with her.  _I don’t get it. Happy birthday, now, let me scare you half to death by jumping out at you in the dark? If the point is to scare him, I can think of better ways._

Kira had halfheartedly tried to explain the reason why people jumped out at parties, but she hadn’t fully known where to begin, so she’d shrugged and said, “Can’t argue with that, I guess.” It seemed be her mantra when it came to Malia.

With the lights off, nobody noticed the side door to the McCalls’ house opening; they were all distracted by the sound of the front door opening too, as Melissa McCall’s overly loud voice echoed around the house.

“Okay, Sheriff!” she said, exaggeratedly loud for Scott to hear - not that she really needed to. Scott would have been able to hear her had she been whispering. “Why don’t we just go through to the living room? I’ll make some coffee!”

“Or better yet,” Argent added, “some whiskey.”

“No whiskey for me, thanks,” Sheriff Stilinski began to answer, “I haven’t touched a drop in —”

The three adults stepped into the living room when the lights flicked on and a group of thirty or so people shouted, “ _Surprise!_ ”

Sheriff Stilinski stepped back, his eyes widening as he scanned the faces in the crowd of people. “This is for me?” he asked, glancing around to check. There was a banner on the wall that Kira and Malia had spent at least an hour trying to hang up straight; it read:  _Happy Birthday Sheriff Stilinski!_

“You guys shouldn’t have,” Stilinski said, shaking his head. He smiled as the crowd parted and Stiles stepped to the front, looking exhausted and like he’d been running, for reasons the Sheriff couldn’t figure out, but standing in front of him. “Stiles!”

“Happy birthday, pops!” Stiles answered. 

“Stiles?” Scott’s head whipped around, his eyes falling on his best friend as he stepped forward to hug his father. Lydia stood beside Kira and Malia, smiling to herself. Scott managed to manoeuvre his way over Lydia without being noticed. 

“You guys actually made it?” he whispered. 

“We slipped in when it was dark,” she explained quietly. “By the skin of our teeth, but I don’t think anybody noticed.”

“I think you guys managed to do it again,” Scott shook his head. He could hardly believe the luck they had sometimes. It bordered on miraculous. 

The Sheriff, spotting Lydia and Scott, made a beeline for them. He held out his arms for Lydia and pulled her in for a hug, much to the delight of Stiles, who gave Lydia a supportive and encouraging thumbs-up from behind his father’s back.

“Stiles, c’mere,” Stilinski said, pulling Stiles over to them and hugging them both closer to him. “Glad you could both make it. How was the drive?”

A silence fell upon the group. Scott, Kira and Malia all waited for Stiles and Lydia to respond, who could only look at each other and try not to burst out laughing. Stiles slipped his hand into Lydia’s and squeezed it, nodding as he squinted one eye and attempted to come up with a story.

“Uh,” he said finally, “great! It was great.”

“No problems whatsoever,” Lydia agreed. 

“No complaints at all,” Stiles continued. 

The Sheriff eyed them both. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not, nope,” Stiles answered almost immediately.

“I’m going to stick with no,” Lydia agreed, sliding her eyes over to Stiles. His eyes were on her too and they both smiled secretively at each other.

The Sheriff dropped his arms from their shoulders. “I’m glad you made it, anyway. Seems like you had plenty of time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I just spotted some cake.”

“And balloons!” Malia offered, smiling. “I’ve heard they’re extremely appropriate for birthday parties.”

“Thank you, Malia,” Stilinski answered. “I’m sure they’re great.”

He ducked away, joining his co-workers over near the snacks table, and the pack gathered in a small circle. 

“Well done, you two,” Kira said. “You did it again. Somehow.”

“God knows how,” added Scott.

“I don’t know what you’re all talking about,” Stiles answered, shrugging. “It was smooth sailing the whole way, right, Lydia?”

She rolled her eyes at him again. She couldn’t resist.

“If you say so,” she said, finally.

Not that it mattered too much, anyway. They’d made it to the party just in time and the Sheriff was none the wiser. Things had worked out, just as they always seemed to. 

Because Scott was right: they  _were_ pretty good together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry that this one doesn't actually take place in college! Again, thanks for reading! Please give it Kudos if you liked it ❤️


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